A Tale of Traitors

Willow: Paintings

      It towered over me, the light from the skylight above landing upon its glistening green scales and its gilded nose. Baring its barbaric teeth, it unleashed its enormous wings to their full potential and let out a beastly roar that rattled inside my brain and made my teeth chatter. I flung out of its view and clung to the shadows, hoping that might help me. I'd never fought a dragon before—my hands... trembling—I would have to depend on memory I didn't have to bring this thing down—
     He slashed in my direction, light pounding off his claws as he tore through the air. I flung up the stairs a split second before his paw demolished the steps under me, chunks of concrete and dust crashed over my shoulders. I raised my arms, blocking my head from most of the blows, and impulsively loosed an arrow straight into the thing's eye. It staggered back, howling in pain. I hurried up a few more steps as I watched it wildly shake its head and release a low growl. As he glared at me with two perfectly unharmed glowing gold irises, I felt the full force of fear painfully pulsing through my skin. I slammed my foot against the cobblestone walls, leaping backwards to land on the opposite side of the staircase over the dragon, and shot three arrows into the base of his skull, but this only seemed to infuriate him as they bounced off his tough hide like pathetic raindrops off of metal. His eyes lit up in the middle, like a ring of fire at a circus. The room got hot—

And lit up like the American sky on the fourth of July.

     I tried to catch my breath and ducked as low as possible as the heat plastered itself against the freezing stones and dramatically increased the temperature of the dungeon. On the bright side—no pun intended—I had regained feeling in my nose. The dragon began to fly above me, a vulture circling a wounded deer. He perched upon the landing, bared his teeth in a playful smile, and dove straight for me. I braced myself. Flung the knife from my side. Squeezed my eyes shut to avoid witnessing my blood splattering against the walls and his claws and being torn apart by his terrible teeth. No, a thought ripped through my brain, don't die a coward. Open your eyes. I dove under his gaping mouth just before those teeth landed in me and thrust my knife into his chest. It bounced straight off, but something deep inside told me to try again.
"Augmenti!" I screeched, aiming for the wall and feeling the powerful winds of the spell pick me up and fling me further toward the belly of the dragon. Releasing a scream, I shoved the blade in all the way into his right side, just under the wing, until the knife was so deep that the hilt clanged against the scales. The dragon tried to fly away as it whimpered in agony, gold seeping down the edges of the metal. I drove the blade straight down, deeper and deeper and farther and farther. The metal parted the scales and it only became easier to slide the blade through him. I dragged the dagger from the side to under his belly, hating the way I gleefully watched its blood and insides spilling over me and crashing over the stones. Then, I shot the metal straight up into its chest, and the mighty beast fell with a final cry onto the cavern floor, his head and wings and claws crashing onto the different steps on all sides until he fell defeatedly into his permanent dungeon. The echoes faded away until I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my own heart. Suddenly everything was quiet.

The silence was strangely overwhelming.

     Torn between fear and exhaustion, I rested my feet upon the floor of the dungeon and crept to the side of the dead dragon, examining the intricacy of his scales and the details in his irises. He was too majestic to be held in a cell. It was cruel for him to live his life here. Then I saw what he had died protecting. The box was exactly like the one I carried with me from the pirate's wreck, ornate and dark and treacherously beautiful, the gold of the latch catching the last of the light from the window. Fairies weren't considered tricksters like pixies, but I didn't rush to grab the chest. I hate traps, but they are fun to set up. Anyways. The chest was located in the back of the room against the darkest wall, the one most hidden by the stairs. I checked every stone before putting my full weight on them. Creeping slowly enough that my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could better appreciate the intricacy of the designs etched into the solid walls. I didn't know what stories they held in them, but as I got closer I reached out and grazed my hand over the symbols and characters. I felt around the wall and the pedestal the box sat on, looking for traps. Who am I kidding, the thought seemed to strike out of nowhere. This is a house of magic, no one would have set an obvious trap. I mumbled some spells I knew that should reveal the least powerful curses, knowing they wouldn't help much. If these were indeed hidden by Helena Magdalena herself, the most powerful sorceress known to have lived, then my magic wouldn't come close to hers. My hands, covered in dirt and dust and new cuts and blood, were still shaking when I reached for the chest. I'd just have to make a run for it.

SNAP!
"Don't forget..."

     The cavern quaked as I stumbled to the staircase, clutching the chest in my palms. Before I began the ascent, the dungeon boomed to life as a raging fire spread across the walls, illuminating every image, the stones cackling underneath the licking flames. They were moving now—the images were moving—the story was coming to life under the pressure and heat. I couldn't bring myself to run anymore as I stared up and down in wonder at the walls. I recognized some of the characters moving. Helena was in the top right corner of the wall I was looking at, her face split between two walls. On one side, she was evil and powerful, causing the people underneath her to cry and fall down dead. On the other side, she was kind, with a child she was caring for, while she ordered the chests to be hidden across the realms, swearing the servants to secrecy. Helena was betrayed by her sister, the walls explained. Tormod got wind of what Helena was planning and sentenced her whole family to death, except for their only son. That would be Adresin. Helena's siblings, parents, cousins, etc. were all killed for her transgression, except for the sister who ratted her out. As for Helena, the walls told that she bore a fate worse than death, but no more information was given. I tried to remember everything exactly as I had seen it. The walls told the secrets of werewolves and held the bitterness of the centaur, things I supposed I would encounter later. If I made it out of the dungeon.

     Hopefully Adresin hadn't left me. At least if he had, I still possessed the chests. But if he had, he could have gone to find reinforcements, maybe soon I'd be surrounded and my friends would be dead... Shoving those thoughts aside and refusing to panic, I thundered back up the stairs and closed the passage behind me. I felt bad for the dragon I had killed. He had a name and should have had a better life than being shackled to the freezing ground only to be killed by an invader. I stole his breath from him and it didn't seem like I had the right to do that. Glancing down at the stolen treasure, I noticed the ancient writing scribbled onto the bottom, something I vaguely recognized but couldn't read. I assumed all I could do at that point was wait. It felt like hours of staring at the paintings and judging the looks on the faces of those frozen in place, eyes that were empty and devoid of life but looked so real. I had too much time to be consumed by thoughts I couldn't finish. Too many thoughts and too little resolutions. Where had I seen eyes like those before? Why did I even care about a painting so much? What was taking Adresin so long? I was nearly asleep again, lying on the cold ground defenseless. Everything ached. My head throbbed. Blood was stained into my clothes. I wanted to sleep...

Steps thudded down the stairs and I sprang into attack mode.